


Kitty Kitty Bang Bang

by soufflegirl91



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: A little bit of angst at the start, Bond is a tired old potato who needs a new career, Bond is just dealing with some issues, Bond’s new feline flatmate, But mostly this fic is a warm hug, Cats, Domestic Fluff, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:00:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23942743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soufflegirl91/pseuds/soufflegirl91
Summary: Bond’s done. The last mission was a wake-up call, he’s not up to par anymore. Moneypenny could have died. After weeks of moping, help comes from an unexpected quarter -- his balcony. The old ginger tom’s got a limp, torn-up ears and a scar above his left eye. He also likes tuna and is a very good listener.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 120
Kudos: 409
Collections: A Labyrinth of Fics, Fav Recs, Fluff and Feels, MI6 Cafe MiniBang





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dhampir72](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dhampir72/gifts).



> Huge thanks as always to Christinefromsherwood for being the world's most efficient and encouraging beta and for putting up with me. The title is 100% Christine's fault. It was a joke and then I decided I liked it. Sorry not sorry. 
> 
> I'm so excited for you to see Dhampir72's art for this fic! It appears in the final chapter, so don't panic and think I forgot it. You will love it as much as I do, and give them all the love for their perfect art and wonderful fics. ALL OF THE LOVE! NOW! GO!

“- still got another conference call with the bloody Paraguayans after this. I’ll be lucky if I’m home by midnight.” 

“No, it’s fine, don’t worry about it. Really, Bill, I won’t be much company anyway.” 

Mumbling through platitudes and promises to rearrange for the weekend, James made his way barefoot to the kitchen, holding the phone in one hand and his empty glass in the other. Cradling the phone with his good shoulder, he reached for the half-empty bottle of Benromach. 

Unlike the shelf of eye-wateringly expensive bottles he kept tucked away, this was his “everyday” whisky. The one he didn’t think twice about downing like water whenever he had a particularly bad day. 

The bad days had been coming much more regularly than the good, recently. 

“- you’ll call, if there’s anything you need?” 

On a good day, James might have felt bad that he’d been too busy watching the slosh of amber liquid fill the glass to pay attention to his friend. Today, though, he didn’t have it in himself to care. 

“I will. Bye, Bill.” 

They both knew he wouldn’t call. 

Carelessly dropping his phone on the counter, James picked up his glass and drained it in one go. He relished the burn in his throat as he swallowed. It meant he could still feel _something._

_ “Bond? Bond! Where the bloody hell are you? There’s too many of them, they’ve blocked our exit!”  _

_ Moneypenny’s voice is screaming in his ear, and all he can see is the tunnel ahead of him. The sound of gunfire and anonymous grunts of pain echo around him, but there’s no one to be seen. They must have fallen back to the exit in the hopes of an ambush - there was only one way out, after all.  _

_ It had been too easy. The whole bloody thing had been too easy from the start. There was no thermal imaging in the tunnels, but they had met only token resistance on their way in. He’d made it almost to the safe before Moneypenny called for back-up. That must have been their plan all along. It didn’t matter who got in, just so long as they couldn’t get out again.  _

_ How had he missed it?  _

_ “Any minute now, Bond! I’m almost out of bullets.”  _

_ Too slow, too  _ slow!  _ Why couldn’t he run any faster?!  _

_ Finally, he could see the doorway. The flash of gunfire added to the cacophony in his ears was overwhelming. It made him want to cover his ears. His hands were trembling.  _

_ Panting for breath, he held his Walther at the ready. _

_ Almost there, just a few more-  _

_ “Fuck! I’m hit! Where the  _ fuck _ are you, Bond?!”  _

The sound of the glass smashing shook James out of the memory. He hadn’t even noticed the glass slipping from his fingers. 

“Fuck!” 

He stared blankly at the mess of shards scattered on the tile. A million pieces that could never be whole again. Just a collection of jagged edges.

James could empathise. 

As he glanced around for something to sweep up the shards, he remembered that the dustpan and brush were in the hall closet. And that he was barefoot. Inwardly sighing, he resigned himself to walking across a room of broken glass. 

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d plucked shards of glass from the soles of his feet after making a mess.

And if it hurt, well, it was more than he deserved. 


	2. A Visitor

The late summer sun shone down with uncharacteristic warmth, but James could barely feel it. Sitting with his eyes closed, half-healed feet propped up on the other chair, with another empty bottle on the table beside him, he wondered how it had come to this. 

_ Too slow.  _

_ Too broken. _

_ Too old.  _

_ Done.  _

It had been too close this time. 

Eve could have  _ died _ and it would have been his fault. She was stuck in medical with two bullet wounds and that  _ was _ his fault. 

_ His _ fault for missing the trap.

_ His  _ fault for having shaking hands.

_ His _ fault for being too slow. 

“Miaow.”

James snapped out of his reverie, sitting up straight on autopilot only to hiss as his sore feet hit the ground a bit harder than intended. 

“Miaoowww.”

What the fuck? 

The last he checked, James did not have a cat. None of his neighbours had cats. Was he  _ hallucinating _ the cat? 

He hadn’t had  _ that much _ to drink. Had he?!

He blinked.

Nope. Still there.

“Miaaooowwwww.” 

James stared. 

The cat stared back from its perch on the balcony railing. 

It had clearly been through the wars. Its dirty orange coat was matted in a few places, and as the cat blinked at him, James noticed a scar over its left eye. As its ears twitched, he saw both had chunks missing. A bit of a bruiser, but clearly a survivor. James could respect that. 

After a few moments, the cat broke off the impromptu staring contest by jumping down from the railing and onto James’s balcony. He noticed that it had a limp. 

“How on earth did you get up here?” 

James only lived on the first floor, but the cat had to have made it quite the distance off the ground to get to his balcony. Unless it had jumped  _ down _ from one of the upper floors, but somehow he doubted that his visitor belonged to one of the other residents. 

James did not pretend to know much about cats, but even he could guess that the way the cat was pacing back and forth, tail swishing to and fro and emitting a constant, low growl, was probably not an invitation to approach. He - at least, James  _ thought _ it was a he - was clearly agitated. The way he clearly avoided putting weight on that front right paw made James suspect this was the source of his distress. 

“Miaaaooww.” 

“Can I help you?” 

James relaxed into his chair, feigning casualness. The last thing he needed right now was to be attacked by a feral cat. 

“Did you hurt your paw? That looks like it’s painful.”

James slowly leaned forward to get a better look, but only succeeded in spooking his guest. The cat jumped backwards with a jolt, hissing and puffing his tail. 

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

He settled into a faux-casual position, elbows resting lightly on his knees and hands dangling loosely. Ever so slowly, the cat limped forward to give him a tentative sniff. 

James secretly wished that he’d made more of an effort to socialise with Q outside of work. The Quartermaster’s cat-wrangling skills would really come in handy right then. And his ability to remain calm in a crisis. And his knack for knowing exactly what to do in any given situation.

...and  _ why _ was he giving the Quartermaster so much thought right now when there was an injured cat two feet away from him clearly seeking his attention?! 

The low, grumbling growl that had been a constant for the past few minutes stopped abruptly when a cool, slightly damp nose bumped against his fingers. As the cat rubbed its head affectionately against James’s dangling fingers, he gave into the temptation to give it a tentative scratch behind one ragged ear. 

James was fairly certain that the cat was as surprised as he was when it started purring. 

“Well, hello there,” he murmured, “what’s brought this on?” 

The cat trilled in response. 

James really wished he spoke cat. The change from agitated growling to affectionate purring was… disconcerting. He didn’t know much about cats, but he was pretty sure that this was unusual. 

After weaving in and out between his legs and headbutting him a few times, the cat clearly decided that a change of scenery was in order. Without warning, he jumped up onto the chair opposite James, letting out what he assumed was the cat equivalent of a pained groan as he put weight on his bad paw. 

“Ah, I see you wanted to talk on a more equal footing.” James grinned at the absurdity. He was sat on his balcony with sore feet having a  _ one-sided conversation _ with a cat with a sore foot. 

The cat mewed. 

Perhaps not  _ totally _ one-sided, then. 

“Are you going to let me take a look at that paw of yours?” 

The cat blinked, slowly. James couldn’t decide if that was a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’. 

“I’m no vet, but you never know, I might be able to help.” 

Resigning himself to the fact that he was going to have to check himself over for fleas later, he leaned in to give the cat another scratch behind the ear. After a few moments of contented purring and more slow blinking, the cat settled down into a very typical feline sprawl, legs stretching in front of him. James caught a glimpse of greeny-black peeking out from between the toes of his bad paw. It looked to be a thorn or something similar. He reached out a tentative finger to see if the thorn was stuck, but just as he brushed a toe, the paw moved. 

“Ow, fuck!” 

He pulled his hand back with a start, hissing at the line of red along his finger. The cat hissed back at him, tail swishing in agitation and claws ready for the attack. 

“Right, it hurts. Sorry about that. I bet you don’t like people poking your injuries, either. I’m no better than the vampires in Medical.” 

Absently wiping his bloody finger on his tracksuit bottoms, James stood as smoothly as he could. He didn’t want to frighten the cat off, but he had an idea. 

“I think I have a can of tuna somewhere, I imagine that’s a better apology than words you probably don’t even understand.” 

“Miaow.” 

Taking that as agreement, James hobbled off, returning a few minutes later with a saucer of tuna and a bundle under his arm. The cat, still sprawled on his chair, raised his head in curiosity, letting out a questioning chirp. 

“Yes, cat, this is for you. No need to ask nicely.” 

Wide eyes followed his every move as James placed the saucer of tuna on the balcony table. After a moment, as if waiting to see if the food would be taken away again, the cat leapt up onto the table and started gobbling up the tuna with abandon.

“Slow down! You don’t want to make yourself sick. When was the last time you ate?”

Silently thanking his gut for making him put half of the tuna aside for later, James watched as the cat practically inhaled his food. From this angle, he was looking rather scrawny. Maybe he was a stray. While the cat was eating, James prepared himself, shaking out his bundle. The cat paused to glance distrustfully at him, but soon returned to his meal. James donned the oven mitt in his left hand, gripped the tweezers with his right and took hold of his fluffiest towel in readiness. 

As soon as the plate was clean, James pounced. 

“MiiAAAooWWWW!” The cat was Not Amused. 

Swiftly bundling the angry ball of fur into the world’s grumpiest burrito, he kept his gloved left hand closest to the cat’s mouth. If it was going to bite, it could bite the oven mitt. Who even knew where the beast had been. It was a matter of seconds to take the injured paw in his mitted hand, pinch it between thumb and fingers to spread the toes and pluck the thorn out from between them. 

The cat yowled.

“I know, I know, it hurts like hell. But it will feel better now, I promise.” 

Checking the thorn for blood to see how deeply it had been embedded, he was gratified to note that it hadn’t been deep enough to need a vet’s intervention. At least, he hoped not. Like having a splinter, it would have been bloody painful to walk on but would heal by itself in no time now the thorn was out. 

“There, all done.” 

James let go of the towel and took a hasty step back as the cat wriggled his way out, hissing bloody murder. 

“Sorry about that, but it’s better than getting infected.” 

The cat only growled at him, shaking out his fur in a manner far too dignified for a creature that had just been wrapped up like a sausage roll. He tentatively placed his paw on the table, lifting it up and setting it down again a few times before pacing around in a circle. Already, the limp was almost gone.

“See, I told you so.” James smirked. 

The cat just hissed at him. 

“Oh, come on, don’t be such a bad sport. Even you must admit that  _ not _ limping is preferable. Now, let me get you the rest of that tuna.” 

He took the offending towel away and returned, plate refilled. This time, the cat went straight for it without even a token glance his way. 

“I see how it is. You’re only here for the food and the first aid. Well, I won’t get offended. Heaven knows, I do that to Q often enough.”

It had started with a botched mission in Senegal, with Q replacing James’s self-inflicted sloppy stitches in his office, but somewhere along the way, whenever his injuries were minor enough to wriggle out of seeing Medical, James had started turning up wherever Q was. Q was certainly  _ grumpy _ to be woken up at 3am on a Sunday that one time, but he never turned James away. 

Maybe one day soon he would start to question why it was  _ Q _ he went to for help and no one else. But not today. 

“Mmmmrow,” chirped the cat once he was finished licking the plate clean.

“All better now?”

Just as James leaned forward to give the cat another scratch behind the ears, his phone started vibrating loudly on the table. It must have spooked the cat, as in moments he was up and gone, jumping down to the ground level and who knew where.

“Fuck!” 

James looked down at the phone, merrily vibrating, and his good mood evaporated.

_ Calling: Moneypenny (Personal) _

Fuck. 

He wasn’t ready for this conversation. Not today. Not when he had just had the first meaningful contact with anyone in  _ weeks _ and it was an injured bloody  _ cat. _

James swiped ignore. 

Eve could wait. 


	3. Lunch

“Miaooww.” 

“Nnnnggg,” James grumbled, pressing his face into the pillow. He had been having a  _ good _ dream for once, damnit! He was in a fancy restaurant, with a certain dark haired, green eyed date, one who  _ wasn’t _ trying to kill him. They had been about to turn down dessert and move on to the even more delightful part of the evening. 

“Miaaaooowwwww.” The second, more insistent miaow was joined by scrabbling at the balcony door. 

“Alright, alright, I’m coming! Keep your fur on!” 

James sat up and rubbed his eyes. What time was it, anyway? 

_ 09:17 _

Well. He couldn’t blame the cat for waking him. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d slept that late, usually he was up at the crack of dawn. Padding over to the balcony door, he saw the cat pawing at the bottom of the door. 

“No callers, please,” he muttered sardonically as he turned the lock. As soon as the door opened a crack, the cat was over the threshold, padding back and forth over the line like a feline hokey-cokey. 

Over the past week or so, the cat had begun appearing more and more regularly, at least once a day and staying for longer each time. He supposed that was his own fault for feeding the damned thing, but James didn’t exactly begrudge the company, either. It was… nice. He didn’t usually have anyone who actively sought him out. Even Q, who James sought out himself often enough, had yet to come looking for James in return. 

“And how are you this morning, cat?” 

The cat trilled at him, weaving between his legs affectionately. After finding himself with flea bites following their first encounter, James had gone out to Pets at Home to pick up some flea treatment on the off chance his new friend turned up again. The poor woman behind the counter probably thought he was a bit odd, buying flea treatment and cat food in a three-piece suit, but his ego could take it. When the cat appeared the next morning, the poor thing found himself burrito-ed all over again while James applied the ointment to his neck. Clearly, the prospect of free food was more inviting than the fear of the towel, as he was back again the next day. And the next. And now the cat had been turning up every day for a week. 

He still very much preferred to stay on the balcony, but on his last two visits, the cat had called from the balcony door to announce his presence, and even crossed the threshold into the lounge to greet James. 

“Well,  _ I _ slept very well, until you turned up. Thank you for asking.” 

Anyone who saw him keeping up a one-sided conversation might question his sanity, but honestly, it was… nice. James didn’t normally have much opportunity for casual chit-chat, so he was a bit out of practice. At least the cat couldn’t judge him for his poor conversation skills. 

“Miaaaoooowww.” 

“Oh, I see how it is. You’re only here for the food.”

He picked up the bowl he’d been using as a water bowl since day three, padding over to the kitchen to rinse and replenish it. The cat didn’t follow him in, but miaowed at him in a “hurry up” sort of way from the balcony door. 

“This isn’t McDonald’s, you know! Fast food has no place in this flat.”

Emptying a pouch of Felix onto what had quickly become the cat’s personal saucer, James tried very hard  _ not _ to smell it. Salmon & trout his backside! It looked like vomit and didn’t smell much better, but the cat seemed to like it. Also, the internet had said that he shouldn’t feed cats tinned tuna meant for humans on a regular basis. And why on earth was there a stereotype about giving cats  _ milk _ to drink if they were lactose intolerant?!

All things considered, James was glad he wasn’t a cat. 

“Here, eat your mush.” 

He placed the bowl and saucer on the ground. The cat was already gobbling away before he’d even withdrawn his hand. 

“Anyone would think you hadn’t eaten in days. But I know for a fact you ate yesterday, you little bugger.” 

The cat was too busy eating and did not respond. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket, thankfully not disturbing his still-skittish guest. 

_ Q: Come down to the branch after your appointment tomorrow. Bring lunch. _

Q really did have a unique way of checking up on people. 

-

“Ah, 007, you made it.” 

Q didn’t look up from the screen as James approached, lunch in hand. It had been oh-so-tempting to just go home and lose himself in a bottle of whisky after his appointment with Psych, but instead he had found himself in the queue at the Quartermaster’s favourite lunch spot. 

“Well, you did order me to bring you lunch. I wouldn’t want you to starve to death.” 

“No danger of that, I assure you. I just have a fast metabolism. Come on, we can eat in my office.” 

Q undocked his laptop, tucking it under his arm as he led the way. James followed obediently behind, wondering if this was how the cat felt when he’d finally plucked up the courage to follow James into the kitchen this morning. 

Was this an invitation to the headteacher’s office or lunch with a friend? Only time would tell. 

He turned his gaze on a couple of giggling Q branch minions, who instantly returned to their work. Following Q into his office, James pushed the door closed, leaving it open just a crack. It wouldn’t do to have the minions gossiping too loudly, after all. 

“Oh, brilliant, you brought Wasabi! How did you guess I was craving Japanese?”

“Just a hunch.” Well. A hunch and the fact that he’d glimpsed Wasabi packaging somewhere on Q’s desk almost every time he’d come down around lunchtime. “Veggie rolls and chicken katsu curry. I’m afraid my deduction skills weren’t up to anything more specific.” 

“No, this is perfect. Thank you.” 

Q went straight for one of the packs of sushi, leaving James to pick up the other. James laughed to see that Q ignored the chopsticks in favour of picking up a roll with his fingers. They ate their sushi in companionable silence, but Q cleared his throat as he took the lid off his curry.

“So. How was your appointment with Psych?”

“Are you checking in on me, Q? I’m sure you have access to the report.” 

Q hummed, chewing a piece of chicken. James found his eyes drawn to the movement of those cherry-red lips. 

“As Quartermaster, I do have access to your medical files. As a… friend, I also know that you and Psych have an ongoing war of words, and anything they put in your file may not be entirely accurate.” 

James had to concede that point. Swallowing a mouthful of rice, he delicately dabbed at his mouth with his handkerchief, considering his answer.

“They recommended that I stay off active duty until I’ve dealt with “the guilt and anxiety I am feeling as a result of my previous mission.’ I wouldn’t exactly have worded it the same way, but… I know I’m not ready to go back yet.”  _ If at all,  _ he didn’t add. 

“And what do you intend to do in the meantime? A bottle of whisky a day won’t exactly do wonders for your next physical, you know.” 

James huffed a laugh. He deserved that one.

“Actually, I’ve made a… friend, of sorts.” 

“Oh. That’s… good, I suppose.” 

James thought Q sounded disappointed. 

“Another lonely stray. We seem to get along, and it’s a nice distraction.” 

Q stood briskly, throwing their lunch containers in the bin on his way to the desk. 

“Well, I’m delighted to hear that, 007. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work.”

James was confused. Wasn’t Q supposed to be  _ happy _ for him? Actually doing something that wasn’t just drinking and fucking anything that moved? A week of only drinking one or two glasses a day had quickly made James realise that his usual between-missions behaviour was less out of desire than self-destruction. What was the point of doing anything meaningful between missions when you could die on the next one. 

“Of course. Missions wait for no Quartermaster, I’ll leave you to it. Maybe I’ll drop by next time I’m here.”

“If you like,” said Q, noncommittal. 

James couldn’t help feeling a bit wrong-footed. Q had seemed happy to see him when he arrived, but now it looked like he just wanted to be rid of him. Mentally reviewing their conversation, James couldn’t see why things had gone wrong. Q, ever the enigma, did not exactly wear his thoughts on his sleeve. 

He decided that the best way to respond to Q’s change of mood was to ignore it and make a timely exit. 

“Oh, and Q? Maybe you should come over sometime. I think the two of you would get on.”

Any reply Q may have given was lost in the click of the closing door. 


	4. Integration

Over the next few weeks, without noticing when things had _changed_ , James found himself owning a cat. Or, to be more precise, being _owned by_ a cat. 

First it was cat food and flea treatment. Then it was a litter tray on the balcony (trying to clean cat shit off the concrete was _not_ an experience James wanted to repeat). A pack of treats, to reward the cat for _using_ said litter tray. Dedicated food and water bowls, so that he could have his side plate and cereal bowl back. 

_Then_ it was a cat bed, in a misguided attempt to get the cat, who had now firmly made himself at home in James’s flat, to stop sleeping on his pillow. It didn’t work. 

“You are a _terrible_ bed partner,” he grumbled, waking up with a face full of fur for the third day in a row. “Couldn’t you at least sleep on the other pillow?”

The damned thing _looked_ like it was sleeping, but James was willing to bet he was faking it. 

“Come on, Cat, time for breakfast.” 

As if magically awoken by the word ‘breakfast’, Cat blinked open his eyes. He stood and gave a leisurely stretch, before slinking off the bed in the direction of the kitchen. 

“Bloody menace. I don’t know why I ever let you in.” 

James entered the kitchen a moment later, Cat meowing at him insistently. 

“Alright, alright, let’s not pretend you weren’t asleep a minute ago. Yelling won’t make it come any faster.” 

He flicked the kettle on for coffee on his way past. After Cat had sussed out where the food pouches were kept and proceeded to have a complete _meltdown_ when he couldn’t bite his way through the packaging, James now kept the wet food and the cat biscuits in the cupboard above the built-in oven. Cat might be an agile creature, but even he couldn’t climb a smooth wall. 

_Christ_ , wet food and cat biscuits! What was his life _coming_ to?! A month ago it had been guns and explosions, what had gone wrong?!

 _Do you really want to answer that?_

The voice in his head sounded disconcertingly like Eve, and that was _not_ a train of thought he wanted to follow right now. Thankfully, Cat chose that moment to start rubbing against his legs, purring like an old Land Rover.

“Don’t think I don’t know that you only do this when you’re hungry,” James said affectionately. “Would Sir like beef or duck this morning?” 

He held out the two pouches for Cat’s consideration. This had become a ritual, of sorts. James offered Cat a choice of two pouches, and Cat expressed his preference by rubbing the corner of his mouth against one. The other then got put away before he could change his mind. It was endlessly entertaining. 

“The beef it is, then. Excellent choice.”

 _Is this really what your life is like now?_ The Eve-voice was back. _Having one-sided conversations with a cat and keeping as far away from missions as possible?_

And so what if it was? 

Ok, the conversations _were_ probably a bit weird. But he didn’t have any frame of reference for pet ownership aside from Q, and Q talked to his cats _all the time._ Even while he was stitching James up at the bathroom sink at 3.30 on a Sunday morning. It was bizarre but delightfully charming. 

Was making a life in London with a pet cat really so bad? Leaving the missions and the danger and the endless trail of dead bodies behind him? Isn’t that what he’d _wanted_ , once upon a time? Then it had been life on a boat with his green-eyed goddess, and that had ended… badly. Didn’t he _deserve_ a quiet life? 

But did he _want_ it? 

MI6 had been his home for so long, was his _family._ Could he really, truly, leave it all behind him?

That was the question. 

He needed to talk this through. And he knew just who to talk to. 

-

James was impressed. It had taken Q ten whole minutes of what for them passed as small talk (who had blown up what recently, why 003 was _the absolute worst_ , what Q was planning to do to the next person who questioned his budget calculations) before he addressed the elephant in the room.

“Out with it.”

“Out with what? I’m only here for lunch, Q.” 

“Mmmhmmm.” Q raised a sardonic eyebrow, though the effect was somewhat ruined when he followed it up with an obnoxious slurp from his bowl of ramen. 

James sighed, tapping his chopsticks restlessly against the edge of his empty bowl. He _had_ come to Q’s office to get his advice, after all. Q knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t just turn up with food on a Wednesday lunchtime for no reason. Or rather, he _would_ , but not when he’d been actively avoiding the building for the last few weeks so that he didn’t bump into Eve. 

“The way I see it, there are two ways this can go. Either you can tell me why you’re _really_ here, or you can tell me why you’re avoiding Eve.” 

James stared, nonplussed. Was Q a mindreader now? 

“What?” Q’s innocent act was about as successful as a child caught with their hand in the biscuit tin. Or Cat, when Bond had _clearly seen_ him knock that book off the shelf that one time. “It really wasn’t that hard to figure you out, you know. I don’t usually have to _summon_ you to get you to come down to Q branch. You might think you’re a master of spycraft, Bond, but whenever you’re off mission you’re here at least twice a week. This is the first time you’ve come of your own accord since Lebanon. And you haven’t badgered me about weapons testing in _weeks._ ”

Was it really? James hadn’t even noticed that coming down to Q branch when he’d been on downtime had become a pattern. Somewhere along the way, it seemed that hanging out in Q branch and bothering the minions had become as much a part of his routine as going to Q for first aid. 

“I have a… dilemma.”

“Is this to do with your last Psych appointment?” 

Either Q really had been developing telepathic technology, or James really _was_ losing his edge. 

“In a way. They didn’t say anything I didn’t already know, but…” he trailed off, not sure how to proceed.

Q wiped his mouth with his napkin, disposing of their empty containers and flicking the kettle on with an admirable show of disinterest while James tried to get his thoughts in order. 

“I don’t know if I can go back out in the field.” 

Q had his back to James, so he couldn’t gauge his reaction, but he thought he caught a brief fumble as Q reached for the tea caddy. 

“But I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I retired. My CV isn’t exactly fit for public consumption.” 

Q hummed thoughtfully, but he didn’t comment, just continued preparing the tea. 

“I just… I’m getting _old_ , Q. Old and slow. I’ve felt it for months, but it seemed like as long as I just kept _going_ , I could keep it at bay. But Lebanon? Eve should have been out there with one of the younger agents. One who could have got to her _before_ she got shot. Twice. I should have seen that it was a trap. I shouldn’t have left her by herself.” 

James accepted the mug from Q with a grateful thanks. As their fingers brushed, he realised with a start that this was the first physical human contact he’d had since trying to stop Eve from bleeding out on him. _Christ,_ just how isolated _was_ he? 

“I’m fairly sure that if you actually answered her calls, Eve would be the first to remind you that she is a perfectly capable field agent who doesn’t need protecting. Not that long ago, she was at the top of the list to be promoted to double-oh status if, heaven forbid, one of you lot went and died. No one is saying the mission didn’t go to shit, Bond, but you aren’t the only one who missed that trap. That’s on us as much as it’s on you, and I won’t thank you for taking on my share of the blame.” 

That was typical of Q. James might have thought him an arrogant young upstart when they first met, but Q had always taken his failures on the chin and _learned_ from them. It was one of the many things he admired about the Quartermaster. But right now, Q’s humility wasn’t what made him feel a little better. Instead, it was the comforting scent of bergamot and the warmth of the mug between his fingers that felt like it might start to thaw the chill in his soul. 

“I panicked. When we knew we’d been ambushed and I was trying to get back to Eve, I panicked. I didn’t freeze, but… my hands were shaking. Everything felt too loud. Like the walls were closing in on me…” he trailed off again. 

Did he really want to tell Q all of this? What if it made Q think less of him? No. He _needed_ to talk about it, and he knew Q wasn’t going to snitch on him to Psych. Whether it was ill-advised or not, Q really did _care_ about his agents. 

“You had a panic attack.”

James had been staring into his tea like it held all the answers, but now he glanced sharply up at Q. Instead of the judgment he’d expected, Q was just looking at him intently, something unreadable in those green eyes. 

“But… I didn’t freeze. I wasn’t hyperventilating.” James was confused. Surely he would _know_ if he’d had a panic attack? He felt the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

Q shrugged, taking a sip of his tea, which prompted James to do the same. The burst of flavour on his tongue and warmth in his throat reminded him that he was _her_ , in Q’s office, with his _friend_. Not fighting unknown enemies or battling Psych. 

“Everyone experiences them differently. It’s not just hyperventilating, you know.” James opened his mouth to deny it, but Q interrupted: “And before you get huffy with me, it doesn’t make you unfit for duty. _Yes_ , talking about it with someone more qualified would probably help - I can put together a list of therapists with appropriate security clearance who _aren’t_ part of MI6’s Psych department, if you want me to - but you aren’t the first person in this building to suffer from panic attacks and you won’t be the last.” 

James thought about the shards of glass on his kitchen floor not so long ago. About fighting the need to cover his ears whenever he heard gunfire these days. About all the times he’d woken up breathless from nightmares he couldn’t remember. Before Cat, whisky had helped him get back to sleep, but he never felt rested afterwards. Now, when the nightmares came, he woke to the sound of purring and a warm weight on his chest or pillow. The nightmares didn’t stop coming, but the purring did a better job of calming him down than the whisky ever had. 

But then Q’s words _really_ sunk in.

“You get them, too?”

Q shrugged and smiled bleakly. 

“Every now and then. The circumstances surrounding my promotion weren’t exactly smooth. And you aren’t the only one with demons in your past. I talk to someone. It helps.” 

James sensed that now wasn’t the time to ask what haunted Q. He remembered the old Quartermaster and other vaguely familiar Q branch faces that had been gone when he got back from being ‘dead’. How Q had fallen into Silva’s trap as easily as James had. No, Q deserved his privacy.

“Thank you,” he said, wishing he could find a way to say how much he really meant it. “I might take you up on that list. But to be honest, even if I could trust myself not to panic on a mission, I’m not sure I could forgive myself if anything like this happened again. I’m not sure I want to _risk_ it ever happening again. I’ve done more years in the field than any other double-oh, Q, and so far I’ve lived to tell the tale, but I’m _tired._ ” And this was what it really came down to, wasn’t it? “I don’t want to die alone and far from home. I always knew I _would_ , and I never thought it mattered, but now? Me getting killed is one thing, but if I’m not good enough, it won’t just be me, anymore. The stakes are so much higher than they used to be.” 

Q looked him in the eye, his expression serious. 

“I hope you know that I would do my utmost to bring you home alive, no matter the circumstances.” James nodded. He’d seen Q pull miracles out of thin air before. “The double-oh programme asks a lot of its agents. We all know that. But it will never _force_ agents into the field against their will. If you really, truly don’t _want_ to go back out there, we’ll find another option for you. MI6 won’t, _I won’t_ , just put you out to pasture and forget about you.” 

James felt as if an invisible weight on his chest had been lifted. 

“Q…. thank you.” 

“You’re quite welcome, 007. Leave it with me, I’ll do some research.” 

As if on cue for the end of their impromptu heart-to-heart, Q’s phone chose that moment to ring. 

“Sir? Yes, sir. 004 should be checking in at 1400, but R can handle that. I’ll be right up.” Q hung up and smiled apologetically at James. “M needs to see me. I’ll get that list of therapists together for you, and think up some options. Pick me up at 1800 tomorrow, and we’ll get dinner?” 

James smiled sincerely for the first time in what felt like forever. 

“That would be wonderful.” 

Maybe this wasn’t an ending after all, but a new beginning. 


	5. Interruption

“Oh, come ON! That was clearly a foul!” 

James gestured wildly at the television, disturbing Cat, who had been lounging on his lap.

“Mrrrrp?” 

Cat kneaded James’s thigh and headbutted his arm, annoyed that the petting had stopped.

“Ow! What was _that_ for? I give you love and attention and _this_ is how you repay me? The nerve!” 

It hadn’t hurt _that much_ , but friendly arguments with Cat were becoming one of James’s favourite past-times. He obligingly lowered his hand back to stroking gently between Cat’s soft ears. He could be a right little bastard when he wanted to be, but James found himself looking forward to these quiet moments. The warm weight on his lap and silky smooth fur under his palm kept him grounded. And if his mind ever _did_ start wondering back to explosions and gunshots and shouting, Cat soon batted him gently on the nose to regain his attention. 

He settled back into the sofa, watching the travesty of a football match while Cat purred contentedly on his lap. He wondered if Q was doing the same thing right now. Probably not, he mused. Even if Q _did_ watch football, he couldn’t imagine Mr Tumnus sitting still and allowing himself to be petted for that long. He would swear that the cat was on speed, forever running around like a headless chicken when James was in Q’s flat. When he wasn’t trying to eat James’s stitches, at least.

 _Q._ James had found his thoughts drifting in Q’s direction more and more often since Cat had first appeared. Or maybe it had started before then? After all, he had apparently turned ‘casually wandering down to Q branch to bother the minions’ into a routine, without ever noticing. He’d been picking up little bits of local tat for Q because “I saw this and thought of you” for _months._ He’d even memorised Q’s favourite lunch spot! Yes, it had probably started before Cat, but now the Quartermaster was taking up more of James’s thoughts than ever before. 

_“So, other than the obvious and inappropriate, what’s your skill set? What do you_ enjoy _doing? And don’t say killing people, I know you don’t really enjoy that.”_

_They were at a little hole-in-the-wall pizzeria off the South Bank, sharing the best quattro stagioni James had ever eaten outside Italy._

_“I like testing all your gadgets.” He waggled his eyebrows exaggeratedly, smiling when it made Q snort into his beer._

_“Breaking them, you mean. Still, I suppose if they break then it means they aren’t robust enough for field use. What else?”_

_James chewed, contemplating his answer._

_“It’s a guessing game. I’m always trying to predict what the target will do next, or plot the best way in and out of their base. Trying to outthink them. It’s a lot easier with you in charge,” he conceded, “but more than the methods we use, it’s the game of cat and mouse that interests me. A mission is just a rather more physical form of problem-solving.”_

_“And that’s why you’re always asking for more logic puzzles and crosswords to be downloaded on your tablet.”_

Q had surprised James with how earnest he was about trying to find alternatives to field work. The list of possible options kept on growing, although they both kept throwing in ridiculous ideas as well. 

_“Personal trainer? It would be a shame to waste those biceps.”_

_James guffawed._

_“Well, flattering as that is, my shoulder’s knackered and my knee hates the rain, so we’d be back to the drawing board in a year or two.”_

_-_

Q: Private security?

_The text had come just as James got back from an eventful trip to the supermarket. A little old lady had seen fit to lecture him on the best type of wet cat food, and James had then spent 10 minutes trying to fact-check her arguments before deciding that, screw it, Cat liked Felix, so Felix was good enough for Cat._

J: Are we both going to pretend I wouldn’t “accidentally” shoot the first entitled rich kid who got on my nerves? 

Q: Give yourself some credit, you have more restraint than that. Maim them, maybe. 

-

_“What about weapons tester?”_

_“Bond, if you think I’m letting you loose in Q branch full-time, you’ve got another thing coming.”_

_-_

They hadn’t found anything that really caught his attention yet, but Q was _trying_ , and that was… well, it was more than James would have given himself. 

His phone buzzed, and he awkwardly reached for it with the hand that wasn’t stroking Cat. He grinned as he saw who was calling.

“What about a football referee? I could do a better job than most of these sods.”

“Hmmm, no, nothing that would put you on the telly. Too many of the wrong people know what you look like.” Q sounded distracted, and unusually hesitant. “Actually, Bond, that’s not why I’m calling.” 

A feeling like cold water trickled down his spine, and he sat up straighter. Cat stopped purring and pricked up his ears.

“I’m sorry to ask this of you, 007, but we need you in the field.” 

_Shit._ He thought he still had _time._

His hand must have tightened automatically on Cat’s fur, because he hissed and dug his claws into James’s bad knee in retaliation. 

“When?” His other hand clenched around the phone to stop it from trembling. 

“You’ll be flying out tomorrow. I really wouldn’t ask, but we’ve had a request from one of your informants in Hong Kong, and they refuse to meet with anyone else. I’ll have your kit ready at 0900, and you’ll be going to the airport directly.”

“Right. Fine, yes, that’s fine.” He rushed the words out before he could choke on them. 

“Ok, well… I’ll see you tomorrow, then, 007.” Q hung up.

The phone slipped out of his grasp, and James brought his trembling hand up to his eyes. 

_Fuck._

“Mrrow,” chirruped Cat, headbutting James’s hand and rubbing his chin against his shoulder.

He sighed, resignedly, scratching Cat’s chin.

“Well, we knew this was going to happen eventually.”

“Miaow.”

“Hmm, you’re right. Someone _is_ going to have to feed you. I’ll ask Q in the morning.” 

“Miaaaoooww?” 

“Oh, don’t complain. You’ll like him. He’s practically the cat whisperer.” 

He gathered Cat gently in his arms as he stood and then deposited him back on the sofa. Cat started to make indignant noises before he realised he was now in the coveted _warm spot_ , curled up and started purring away, no longer interested in James. 

“See? You’ll be fine without me for a few days.” 

Assuming it truly would only be a _few_ days. Assuming he would be coming home from this mission. 

James sighed again, making his way to the kitchen. If he was going to get _any_ sleep tonight, he was going to need a drink. 

-

The doors to Q branch swooshed open at 0855, and James sauntered in acting for all the world like the confident, cocky double-oh the minions expected to see. _They_ didn’t need to know that it had taken him hours to get to sleep with the help of a few glasses of whisky, and even then he’d awoken in a cold sweat with a racing heart before the dawn. Even the usually-soothing presence of Cat on the pillow beside him couldn’t get him back to sleep.

Q looked up from his laptop. 

“Ah, 007, bright and early for once, I see. I’ll be with you in a moment.” He picked up his mug and went to take a sip, only to visibly slump. It must have been empty. 

Deciding to make himself useful while Q was busy, James picked up the Scrabble mug and went to make Q a fresh cup, making one for himself while he was at it. He could really use the extra caffeine.

“Thank you,” Q took the mug with a grateful smile. “How are you feeling?” 

He then smoothly unplugged something from his laptop and dropped it into the tray with the rest of the field kit. Rather than go poking about, James decided to wait and let Q explain.

“This is the last one, Q.” James avoided the question. “I’m handing in my notice when I get back. Alternative career option or not, I’m done being a double-oh.” He took a hasty sip of his still-too-hot tea to avoid seeing the look on Q’s face. 

“Yes, I had a feeling that might be the case. So I took the liberty of adding a little something extra to your field kit.” 

James glanced up, surprised. Clearly Q had out-thought him once again. He took the item Q handed to him on auto-pilot.

“Q, you _didn’t_?!” 

Q grinned. James admired the way his cheeks dimpled and how it made his eyes sparkle behind his glasses. 

“Is this really-?”

“An exploding pen,” Q confirmed, “but you only get to take it with you if you promise not to accidentally blow yourself up.”

“It _is_ Christmas!” 

“The instructions have been downloaded to your phone, so _read them_. It requires a specific pattern of clicks, so no fiddling with it just because you’re bored. If you manage to restrain yourself from using it, I might even be convinced to let you keep it. We can pretend it got lost, like all those other gadgets you think I don’t know about.” 

James could have sworn his heart skipped a beat. Trying not to look _too_ pathetically grateful, he took the pen and tucked it safely into his breast pocket. Maybe there were some things about MI6 he _would_ miss. Which reminded him-

“Q, I don’t suppose you would do me a favour, while I’m away?” 

“I won’t turf out your latest one night stand for you, if that’s what you’re asking.” Q narrowed his eyes suspiciously. 

That stung a little. James couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a woman to bed when it wasn’t for a mission. Or a man, for that matter. It must have been months ago now. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him. 

“Actually, I need you to check on Cat for me.”

“What, your new girlfriend can’t look after herself for a few days?” 

“ _Girlfriend? What?_ Why would you- no! _Christ_ , Q! Of course, I don’t have a bloody _girlfriend_. I want you to check on my _cat._ ”

Q stared at him, nonplussed.

“You… have a cat?” 

“Yes. _Obviously_. Or I wouldn’t be asking you to check on it.”

“A… a real-life, fur and whiskers, miaows when it wants something, cat?” 

_Seriously?_

“No, Q, an _invisible_ cat. Yes, a real cat! I thought I’d told you? A stray started hanging around my balcony, I took him in _weeks_ ago. Only he doesn’t have a name, so I call him Cat.” 

“You… have a cat. Called Cat.” 

“ _Yes._ And he needs feeding while I’m away.” What was so hard to understand about it? James was sure he’d talked about Cat plenty of times around Q. Maybe he’d never mentioned Cat by _name,_ but he’d been telling Q all about his new… friend. Oh. _Oh._ “You thought I had a _girlfriend?!_ ” 

“You kept talking about your new friend! How much you had in common, and that your food bill kept going up! What else was I _supposed_ to think?!” Q retorted defensively, and was he _blushing?_

“Well, for the record: no, I don’t have a girlfriend.” James couldn’t quite pinpoint why this upset him so much. Maybe it was because he had thought there was something between him and Q. That things could be going somewhere good. “I _do_ have a pet cat that needs feeding, would you please go round to my flat and feed him while I’m away?”

“Oh. Well… yes, of course.” 

“Good. Thank you. Here’s the spare key. The code for the outside door is 3837. I’m sure the two of you will be friends in no time.”

Q took the key, and James noticed once again how cold Q’s fingers were. Maybe he should buy him some gloves. Those fingers were important.

“Right. Well, here’s what you need to know, 007…”


	6. The Beginning, Not The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we see the wonderful art that [Dhampir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dhampir72/pseuds/dhampir72) made for my fic! Isn't it beautiful?! You should give them all the love on [Tumblr!](https://dhampir72.tumblr.com/)

_J: Do you know what the best thing about retirement will be? Not having to get on a bloody plane every other day._

Hong Kong had been _humid_. James had left London in the middle of an unprecedented dry spell, but the rain there more than made up for it. He couldn’t decide if the terrible weather was fitting for his final mission, or if he would have preferred sun and sand. 

Well, he supposed, as final missions went, wet and uneventful was vastly superior to dying on a beach, so he would take what he could get. All the years of out-running gunshots and explosions, and his last time out in the field had been… dull. It could have been a rookie milk-run, if only bloody Tsang had agreed to speak to someone other than him. 

_Q: It’s only a 12 hour flight, I’m sure you’ll survive. I’ll even let you go home and sleep before you drop your kit off._

_J: Much obliged, Quartermaster. I’ll let you know when I land._

_Q: Have a safe flight._

As had quickly become Q’s habit over the last three days, his final message was accompanied by a picture. Cat, lounging on the back of the sofa, apparently his new favourite place to sleep. The sun shone on his sleek, orange fur, making him look for all the world like one of the ‘motivational cats’ that he kept seeing stuck to the fridge door in Q branch. 

James still wasn’t sure whether Q had been spending that much time in his flat just to keep Cat company, or if he had simply taken a lot of pictures and was spreading them out. Either way, the thought of his two favourite creatures spending time together was oddly comforting. 

With a fond smile, James scrolled back through the conversation since he’d arrived in Hong Kong. 

_J: It’s raining. And hot. 0/10, would not recommend. Can’t wait to get home._

_Q: Stop complaining. It’ll be cold and raining again before you know it. No more tropical holidays on work time, either. However will you manage :/_

James bit back a chuckle, re-reading the message. Even from 6000 miles away, Q’s snark came through loud and clear. 

_J: I’ll live. I can always pay for my own holiday. Besides, I’m sure 003 will be more than happy to take over those missions._

_Q: Oh, fuck off. 003 isn’t allowed out of Europe if I have anything to do with it. I may actually forget to get him out of trouble one of these days._

Tavistock had a terrible habit of rushing in without listening to Q’s instructions, and it never failed to piss Q off. He wasn’t all that different to how James himself had been, once upon a time.

_J: How’s Cat?_

That was when he had sent the first picture. Looking out from the screen was Q, sleepy eyed and clearly holding his camera at a wonky angle to get Cat in the picture. Clearly, he hadn’t wasted any time making friends, because Cat was draped over his shoulders like a fluffy orange scarf. 

_Q: He’s just fine. You were right, we’re great friends now. I might steal him._

Even now, though James had looked back on the picture a dozen times already, his heart gave a flutter, and he could feel himself grinning. The thought of Q _in his flat_ , cuddling with Cat, filled him with warmth. He wondered what it might be like to have two warm weights in his bed. Cat curled up on the pillow and Q in his arms. Of course, if that was ever going to happen, Mr Tumnus would surely have to be there, too. 

_J: Did you stay the night? Mr Tumnus must be lonely._

When he had sent the message, James hadn’t been sure what to think about the possibility of Q sleeping in his bed without him there to appreciate it. It seemed… unjust.

_Q: Cat wishes. No, just popped in on my way to work. Early meeting this morning. If you’re that bored, why don’t you read one of the books I downloaded for you?_

James chuckled. Clearly he had been too transparent. 

_J: They’re all detective novels._

_Q: What’s wrong with detective novels?_

_J: The conclusions are always too obvious._

_Q: Check you out, Hercule Poirot. I’d like to see you do better. Maybe you can become the next great gentleman sleuth in your retirement?_

James had laughed at the idea then, and it still made him chuckle now, but he couldn’t deny the idea had merit.

Q: _Got to dash. Try to get some sleep._

_J: I will. Have a good day. Don’t kill 003._

_Q: No promises._

With a smile, James put his phone on flight mode and slipped it into his pocket. Maybe once his resignation had gone through, he would ask Q out for a drink. Properly, this time. 

-

Stepping off the plane at Heathrow, James was in desperate need of a shower and a good night’s sleep. No matter how often he flew, long flights never failed to make him feel filthy and exhausted. 

Stifling a yawn, he shouldered his bag and fished out his phone to text Q. 

_J: Just landed. Will report tomorrow morning. Kit all present and correct, try not to die of shock._

Q’s reply came through not even a full minute later. He must have been looking at his phone. 

_Q: I saw on ATC logs. Car on its way, don’t call a cab._

Q was always going above and beyond for his agents, but monitoring Air Traffic Control logs seemed like overkill, even for him. Maybe Q just wanted to see his agent’s last mission through to the very end? 

Sure enough, an anonymous black sedan was there waiting for him when he came out of the Arrivals exit. He gratefully slid into the back seat, letting the familiar journey home wash over him as his thoughts drifted. 

He’d survived. Maybe he would even get that exploding pen framed. _If_ Q really did let him keep it.

And that drink... hopefully Q would say yes. He didn’t like the idea that tomorrow might be the last time he ever saw his favourite boffin. 

_No_. They were friends. Q wouldn’t have humoured him with all of that talk of future careers if he only cared about James in a professional capacity. Q would still want to be friends.

But did _James_ want to be friends? 

He thought back to that image of Q and Cat in his bed. 

Fuck. He wanted _that._

“Sir?” The driver’s voice shook him out of his reverie. 

He hadn’t even noticed the car making its way through the familiar streets around his flat, let alone stopping. With a short thanks, he dragged his tired limbs out of the car. Trudging up the stairs, he debated whether to shower first or just throw himself straight into bed. 

His first thought when he opened his front door was: _Did Q leave the light on?_

His second thought, as he calmly shut the door behind him, was: _Shit, there’s someone in here._

His third thought, as he reached for his gun, was: _Is this how it ends?_

Then all his thoughts cut off abruptly as Q came into view, Cat perched on his shoulder like a witch’s familiar. 

He blinked. 

Nope, still there.

“Oh good, you’re back.”

“Miaow.” Cat jumped down from Q’s shoulder, the Quartermaster not even batting an eyelid, and started rubbing himself against James, weaving between his legs and purring loudly. 

“What,” he said stupidly. It wasn’t even a question. His brain sluggishly tried to process what was going on. 

Q was in his flat. Q had waited for him to come home. Q was in his flat, making friends with Cat, and seemed… pleased to see him? “What?”

“I thought, well, your last ever mission, and then Cat wanted the company, and…” Q trailed off, looking embarrassed. 

“Are you blushing, Q?” This only seemed to make Q blush harder. It was delightfully charming. 

“Shut up. How was the flight?” 

James grinned. Embarrassed Q was _adorable._

“Long. But I’ve finally written my letter of resignation. I’m not sure whether to email it or use my favourite dagger to pin it to his door.” 

Q laughed, the sound shaking the last vestiges of exhaustion from James’s mind like cobwebs with a duster. 

“ _Or_ you could just hand-deliver it and speak to M _like an adult._ ”

“But, Q, think of my _dignity,”_ he joked, shucking his shoes and jacket now that the threat of danger had passed.

“I’m sure your ego will manage.” 

James narrowed his eyes. Despite the dry tone, Q looked shifty. He was avoiding eye contact, and seemed to be trying his best to make his skinny limbs block the way into the lounge. He smelled a rat. 

“Is there a reason you’re trying to keep me in the hall?” James kept his tone light, lips quirked in a half smile. 

“Ah, well. Yes. You see, the thing is. Don’t be mad,” Q stuttered. 

James quirked an eyebrow, leaning against the wall and nonchalantly folding his arms. He grinned at the sight of his normally-unflappable friend looking like he’d been caught with his hands in the cookie jar. 

“Q, you’re rambling,” he teased. 

Q glared. The effect was entirely ruined by the fact that he’d gone beetroot-red. 

“Shut uuuuup, I’m trying to -'' he huffed, standing up straight and visibly steeling himself. “I may have, slightly… installedacatflapinyourbalconydoor.” 

James practically _heard_ his mind screech to a halt, for the second time in five minutes. 

“Say that again? Using real words this time.” 

“I installed a cat flap in your balcony door.” 

He froze, not sure how to _begin_ to respond.

“Don’t be mad,” Q hurriedly continued, as if he thought James could _possibly_ be mad at him! “Cat wanted to go out, and I didn’t want to leave him locked out when I wasn’t there in case he needed to get back in, so I bought a cat flap. I only needed to replace the one door panel, but we still had some of that bulletproof double-glazing we used when M moved house, so it really wasn’t that-”

James pulled Q into his arms. Q’s panicked babbling cut off abruptly as he froze. 

“Erm… Bond?” 

“Shut up and hug me back, you idiot.” 

He felt Q’s arms lift, tentatively. Felt his hands settle on James’s back, just a whisper of touch at first, then Q was hugging him back tightly, hanging on for dear life. The realisation flashed through his skull like a bolt of lightning. He could _have_ this. 

“Have dinner with me tomorrow,” he murmured into Q’s hair, which smelled of bergamot and citrus and _Q._

Q stiffened in his arms. “You… you don’t need to buy me dinner to thank me for the cat flap, you know.” 

James huffed out a laugh, pulling Q tighter against him. They were almost of a height, but they fit together perfectly. He felt lighter than he had in weeks.

“It’s not a thank you,” he said. “Well, I _am_ grateful, but that’s not why I’m asking. Q… will you go on a date with me?” 

Q blinked up at him. Slowly, like the sun coming out from behind a stubborn cloud, he smiled.

“I’d like that,” he said, shyly. 

“Good,” grinned James, heart thumping in his chest like he’d just run a marathon.

“Good,” retorted Q, grinning back. 

They stood there, grinning at each other like idiots, neither sure what to say next.

“Miaow!” 

Just like that, the spell was broken. James started chuckling, and Q joined in. 

“Miaooowww!” 

“No, darling, we aren’t laughing at _you._ ” Q picked Cat up and nuzzled his face against his head. 

James kept one arm around Q’s shoulders, using the other to scratch Cat’s chin. It felt like coming _home._

That feeling stayed with him as he watched Q rifling through _his_ cupboards, making himself at home and making them both a cup of tea. It stayed with him as they moved to the sofa, awkwardly sitting apart until they simultaneously leaned in to each other and laughed again because it _wasn’t_ awkward. It stayed with him as they watched Cat make his way over to the newly-installed cat flap that _Q had installed for him_. It clicked when Cat approached. 

“Is it a motion sensor?” he asked, curiously. 

“Hmm, sort of.” Q took a sip of his tea. “It’s a microchip sensor. It’ll only open for Cat.” 

“You got him microchipped?” Just how much had Q _done_ in the last 3 days? On top of being at work, too! He must have spent _hours_ with Cat. Wait, had he… “Did you take him to the _vet?!”_

“Oh, no, no vets. I thought I’d save that delight for you. I did make you an appointment, though. It’s on Thursday.” 

“Well, I hope you know you’re coming with me. I may be an almost-retired double-oh, but I’m not taking on that challenge by myself,” James mock-huffed, nudging Q’s foot with his own. “So, the microchip?”

“Microchip reading technology is really the same regardless of the animal. We still have a reader in Q branch from that trial we did. I borrowed it for the evening. Turns out, Cat was already microchipped. And his name was _Munkustrap_.” 

The warmth, fuzziness of the past few minutes died away as a cold feeling filled the pit of James’s stomach. 

“So he already has an owner?” 

He had visions of someone putting up posters. Wondering why their cat hadn’t come home. Thinking the worst. Sure, they had terrible taste in names, but they still deserved to know their cat was ok. 

James was going to have to give Cat _back._ The thought filled him with dread. 

“ _Had._ His previous owner is deceased. Four months ago.” 

“ _Oh_ ,” James breathed a sigh of relief, and immediately felt guilty. He shouldn’t feel happy that someone had _died!_ He did the maths. Cat had been looking out for himself for about 8 weeks before he’d found James. 

“They lived in your building, actually.” Q continued. “That’s probably why he kept coming back here. No family, so probably no one knew to take him in and he found himself locked out one day. Lucky you found him, really.” 

“Lucky _he_ found _me_ , you mean.” _And lucky I have you,_ he didn’t add. 

“So anyway, I took the liberty of updating his chip information. He really didn’t strike me as a Munkustrap, so he’s now officially called Cat and registered to you. Congratulations, Bond. It’s a boy.” 

Q grinned impishly. James wanted to kiss that grin off his face, and realised that for once he could actually _do_ it. Q’s lips were soft beneath his own, warm and pliant. He buried his hands in his hair. 

Q beamed at him when they broke apart.

“So, what will you do now?”

James considered the question seriously for a moment as Cat, having figured out he wasn’t the centre of attention, jumped onto his lap and demanded affection.

“I’ll speak to M in the morning. After that, we’ll see. I don’t need to decide right now.” He stroked the fine silky fur of Cat’s ears and came to a decision. “Actually, I have a call I should make. Will you stay?”

Q squeezed his knee in agreement, smiling sympathetically. Trying not to dislodge Cat too much, James reached into his pocket for his phone. With Q resting against him and Cat curled on his lap, he could finally face this conversation. 

_Dialling: Moneypenny (personal)_

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Kitty Kitty Bang Bang by SouffleGirl91](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25998496) by [christinefromsherwood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/christinefromsherwood/pseuds/christinefromsherwood)




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